


(For Neither Ever, Nor Never) Goodbye

by thegrumblingirl



Series: Why Don't You Save Me? (1 Million Celebration) [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Corvo POV, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Horny Sparring, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, bodyguard Corvo, mob boss Daud, this is the one with the unhappy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 05:23:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: Across the busy streets of Dunwall, fog drifted in from the river. The Wrenhaven was never far from people’s minds, and it seemed it did not like to be forgotten. At high tide, no-one could.Walking along the embankment by Olaskir Bridge, Corvo checked his watch. He had twenty minutes to get across the water and find the restaurant the Agency had named in his latest contract. The Chamber was an upscale place in the City, and anyone even vaguely familiar with the less reputable part of Rudshore knew that it belonged to the Whalers and their boss, a man named Daud.





	(For Neither Ever, Nor Never) Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate posting 1 MILLION words on this here AO3, I [gave away ten request slots](https://screwtheprinceimtakingthehorse.tumblr.com/post/187537485520/grumbles-1-million-give-away) (all gone now). This is the third, for dragon-pug!
> 
> Title taken from [Apparat: Goodbye](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66VnOdk6oto)

Across the busy streets of Dunwall, fog drifted in from the river. The Wrenhaven was never far from people’s minds, and it seemed it did not like to be forgotten. At high tide, no-one could.

Walking along the embankment by Olaskir Bridge, Corvo checked his watch. He had twenty minutes to get across the water and find the restaurant the Agency had named in his latest contract. _The Chamber_ was an upscale place in the City, and anyone even vaguely familiar with the _less_ reputable part of Rudshore knew that it belonged to the Whalers and their boss, a man named Daud.

It was not the first time he provided his services to a man such as that — the Agency often contracted out to those who would rather the Watch stay out of their business; and Corvo was universally praised as trustworthy and, more importantly, lethal. He had mostly been hired for special occasions or events, or in the run-up to major acquisitions, as additional security. He’d had plenty of offers to stay on, of course, but he always politely declined. His background did not lend itself to longer engagements, he would say. And that was true.

Little did the families and gangs of Dunwall know that their favourite Protector was an undercover Grand Guard officer from Karnaca, called in on a favour Major Bonneville had owed Captain of the Dunwall City Watch Curnow. He had been in Gristol just shy of three years, and already he hated this wretched rock. For several, increasingly personal reasons.

*

He arrived at the Chamber exactly on time, noting the positions of the two Whalers stationed on patrol across the street. Daud was one of the bosses who still insisted his people dressed a certain way: blue or grey pinstripe suits, tailored, and wide-brimmed hats to obscure their faces. Corvo had not yet decided whether to find it quaint. He had not worked for Daud before; usually, these days, Corvo knew at least someone in each operation going in. But the Whalers protected their secrets even more viciously than anyone else.

Stepping inside, Corvo took note of the other patrons, the exits, the placement of tables and number of staff present. Then, he turned his attention, unhurried, to the man he knew was waiting for him, likewise watching like a hawk. Corvo stopped a few paces from the table, nearer to the back than he had honestly anticipated. Daud nodded to one of his lieutenants, a young woman, and she walked towards him briskly. Lurk, it had to be. She was in Corvo’s file. The usual procedure: pat-down, sit-down, ‘Are you hungry?’

“So you’re Attano,” Daud opened the conversation once Lurk had satisfied herself that Coro was carrying no more weapons than advertised and Corvo had been motioned to the seat across the table. He took a sop of water and measured him with a long look. “A month. No longer. I’m preparing to take over Brigmore, and the witches aren’t going to be happy. Hence, you. I don’t usually hire outside counsel, but with things being as they are, I have decided to bring on some extra muscle.”

He looked at Corvo expectantly, as if daring him to state the obvious.

Corvo leaned back in the chair and calmly returned the look.

After a moment, Daud nodded, almost approvingly.

“I prefer keeping on outsiders short-term. Apart from my people, no-one can piece together the entire supply chain, and I prefer it that way. So does everyone who works for me. We value our confidence. Understood?”

“Understood,” Corvo nodded.

“I expect you understand your duties as laid out in my contract with the Agency?”

“I do.”

Daud raised a brow. “Do you fancy yourself a man of mystery, Attano, or are you always so tight-lipped?”

“Isn’t that how you want me?”

Daud’s mouth ticked up in a smirk. “Touché. You can stay.” He waved for one of the waiters, already standing at attention. “Hungry?”

*

Working for Daud was neither thrilling nor mind-numbing, that first week. Corvo spent most of his time _outside_ of meeting rooms and gambling dens. Of course, Daud did not require his presence to conduct business. Merely to act as a human shield; and nobody in Dunwall would dare walk into a meeting with Daud armed. Bodyguards of any kind remained outside like wolfhounds on a leash, and thus the playing field was level — or so the assumption. Corvo had no doubt that Daud carried at least a blade in his boot. He’d be a fool not to.

And quite aside from that: with the amount of muscle on him, and seeing the way Daud carried himself — like a prize fighter on a very long leash held by a very short man — he wasn’t sure that Daud really had need of him. But then, optics were part of the game. Whether Daud wanted to project weakness — advertise an opportunity that would close around his opponent’s neck like a vise once the trap was sprung — or present himself as untouchable while closing in on new turf, was hardly Corvo’s concern. At least, in terms of motive. Staying alive and in the game long enough to help Curnow build a case no city barrister could deny was worth prosecuting: that was what Corvo had to worry about.

At the end of that first week, Corvo saw himself required to accompany Daud and his second and third in command back to the large townhouse that the gang used as their headquarters and, for lack of a better word, dorms. Corvo had discovered that even Curnow had vastly underestimated the true size of the Whalers’ operation. Where most reports spoke of fifty or sixty runners directly under Daud’s command, Corvo’s estimate lay closer to a hundred. He now saw the value of those identical suits.

Daud occupied the entire top floor, which included a library — and an extensive archive of all their operations, under lock and key, which the Whalers called the Stacks — and a large roof terrace. Corvo was shown all of this swiftly and without grandeur. Daud didn’t seem like the type of man to show off. He barely declared ownership of his people, and yet he commanded and they obeyed.

Daud offered Corvo a glass of whiskey, which he declined.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, but there was a hardness in his voice that meant Corvo had better think twice about taking a drink _anywhere_ while he was in the Whalers’ employ. “Come on.”

Corvo followed Daud up onto the terrace. From here, he could see almost the entire city. The moon stood low over the Clocktower, and Corvo automatically stayed by the door as Daud walked towards the opposite edge of the roof. When he realised, Daud turned.

“Good,” he said. “Now join me.”

Feeling distinctly like a dog being taught new tricks, Corvo moved to close the distance. It was a gamble: this might well be an exercise of teaching him not to forget his station. But Daud did not strike him as a man in the habit of treating those who worked for him with cruelty — unless they deserved it. For instance, by betraying him.

When Corvo reached him, Daud turned back around and rested his elbows on the parapet. “It’s not Cullero, but it’s a view,” he said.

Corvo, immediately on his guard, thought but for a moment. “I’m from Karnaca.”

“I know,” said Daud. “So am I. I can tell by your accent. Wondered if you could.”

“Still testing me, then?” Corvo returned.

Daud hummed. “That, and I wanted to ask you something.” He shook a cigarette from the pack in his hand, then another. He offered one to Corvo.

This time, Corvo accepted, and dug a box of matches from his pocket. “What’s that?”

“Why did you leave?” A simple question, yet one that could not be more fraught with danger if it tried.

“Same reason everyone leaves the docks,” Corvo answered. “It’s fucking awful work.”

“Protecting criminal scum isn’t?” Daud sent him a critical glance while he list his own cigarette.

Corvo shrugged. “I like guns better than whale guts.”

“It’s all cargo you don’t own,” Daud squinted at him through the smoke pluming up from where the cigarette was clamped between his teeth. He shook out the match and then took a deep drag, holding Corvo’s gaze.

“Never asked to be the boss of anything.”

“And now you’re a glorified bouncer.”

Corvo’s hackles rose — now there was a test. One of pride, and ego.

“There’s a little more to it than that,” he returned with a small amount of censure. Testing the waters.

“Mmh,” Daud hummed, looking vaguely smug. “I know. I watched you, when you first came to _The Chamber_. The way you cased the room. You knew what you were doing.”

Corvo shrugged. “It’s easy training.”

“Military?”

“Navy, counter-intelligence. Dishonourably discharged. Worked on Campo Seta for a while, saved up enough to buy a passage.”

Daud’s grey eyes glinted in the light from the lanterns illuminating the dark. Up here, no streetlights reached.

“Interesting.”

*

Corvo had not asked what made him ‘interesting,’ and Daud had dismissed him as soon as their smokes were done.

From that day on, he sometimes was seen into the room when Daud met suppliers. He wondered why — until one day into his third week, Lurk took him aside.

“You know Griff?”

“Fence. Old as the hills, works on Bloodox Way.” Corvo had sat in on two meetings with him.

“We reckon he’s been talking to the Watch. Next time Daud meets with him, we want you to do some work afterwards.”

Corvo tilted his head. So that was why — if nothing had happened the first two times Corvo had accompanied Daud, then the fence would likely relax by the third. And make a mistake. Still, there was a distinction to be made.

“I’m a bodyguard, not an enforcer. You got plenty of thugs for that kind of work.”

“None of them as tall as you,” she said, sounding almost bored. But Corvo knew she would report every single twitch of his hands back to Daud. “Besides, where’s the difference? It’s all muscle.”

He watched her for a moment, then shrugged. Griff might be an opportunity in disguise.

“Fine.”

*

The difference, it turned out, was one Corvo was able to demonstrate only the next day; the blood dried on his knuckles finally washing off.

The Brigmore Witches would not give up their turf without a fight — which the Whalers had doubtlessly prepared for. Only, not for an outright attempt on Daud’s life right outside _The Chamber_, it would seem. The witches were cunning: they had circumvented the patrols with surgical precision. By the time they had Daud in their sights, it was almost too late. Almost.

Corvo had had a bad feeling all day, as though something was coming down on him. The last time he had felt this way, he…

He’d shaken the thought and kept his eyes open. Something was coming.

When it did, Corvo moved his body between Daud and the threat before the witch’s appearance had fully registered: black trenchcoat, black hat, and deep red lipstick. One of Copperspoon’s inner circle, Corvo would realise later. For now, he blocked the jab of the first knife, then the second. By her wrists, he turned her into him, her back to his chest, and bent back her arms until she cried out and dropped the blades; and with a sweep of his leg, she was on the ground, wind knocked out of her. Corvo knelt over her to keep her down.

There was a commotion behind him: the Whalers had closed around them in a tight circle, and were calling out orders to their sentries.

“Get him inside,” Corvo barked over his right shoulder.

“Fat chance,” Daud’s voice rumbled close to his left ear, and Corvo jerked around to find him squatting at his side. He reached to draw the hat away from the assassin’s face. She was snarling with hatred.

“Get inside,” Corvo told him without a care for deference, deserved or bought.

“Ordering me around, Corvo?” Daud said quietly, and his eyes were on Corvo now. They were close enough for their shoulders to touch, and Corvo had a feeling that was deliberate.

“I may be the one under contract, but your safety is my responsibility,” Corvo grunted as he moved back, yanking the witch up with him and putting her on her feet, arms still trapped in his grip. “That means you _listen_.”

Daud stood alongside him, still close. “As you say, bodyguard.”

Corvo handed the witch over to the Whalers and brought Daud inside himself.

“We should leave out the back and take you to a secure location,” he said as they walked together.

“Nonsense. I’m hungry.”

_You’re a stubborn fool_, Corvo wanted to say but didn’t. Chances were Daud knew it himself. Corvo worked to compensate the shock of adrenaline; after so much time it was as easy as balancing after a punch.

“Daud—”

“Sit. It’s on the house.”

It always was.

For a moment, Corvo wonder whether Daud was having more trouble with that adrenaline rush, but when he looked over at him, he seemed perfectly steady as he claimed his customary chair.

Bemused, Corvo sat down across from him, a waiter already bustling over. The Whalers who had not been tasked with disposing of the witch came filing in through the front door.

“What do you fancy?”

*

The next day, Corvo received a wire from the Agency, to inform him that his contract with Daud would be extended by another month. Hardly surprising, in light of recent events. However, this was Daud. A man who revealed little of himself even to those he ostensibly trusted. Lurk might be the only one who could actually read him.

“You’ve received the amendment to your contract?” Daud asked when Corvo arrived where he’d called to tell him meet him later that morning.

“You shouldn’t be out alone,” Corvo said in reply. Was he daring Copperspoon now?

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Daud seemed satisfied.

“Why are we here?”

Here — the outside of the Bottle Street Gym, which regularly gurned out prize fighters. Slackjaw, the owner and leader of the Bottle Street Gang, had been one of the more cheerful bosses Corvo had worked for. He had not been disappointed when it turned out Slackjaw had had nothing to do with the Black Sally hit a few months prior.

“You know Slackjaw, so do I,” Daud said. “I train here. Slackjaw keeps the place clear for me for two hours every week. Brigmore has kept me busy, but after yesterday, they have decided to put aside a few of their grievances. Copperspoon is smart enough for that. And after finally seeing you in action…”

Daud trailed off and jerked his head at the entrance.

“Want some tips?” Corvo asked, skeptical.

Daud canted his head. “I want you to spar with me.”

*

Corvo should not have agreed.

He knew this with absolute certainty the moment Daud practically had him in a wrestling hold. Corvo may have height on him, but Daud’s suits did very good work in hiding the strength of his arms and upper body. Corvo grit his teeth, steeled himself, and pushed back, using the leverage of his longer legs to unbalance Daud. The hold of Daud’s arms loosened, and Corvo used what room he had to knock his elbow into Daud’s solar plexus, crowing inside when Daud’s breath, knocked from his lungs, fanned hot and damp over the side of Corvo’s neck. Darkly satisfied, Corvo freed himself and spun, pushing Daud back to keep him off-balance, and then moved in to wrap a hand around his throat, using instinct in forcing Daud to his knees.

Daud fought it, admirably so, but Corvo _pushed_ and and pushed until Daud was bending back.

Daud wouldn’t have it, though, as he stopped reaching behind himself for purchase and turned his hands on Corvo instead. But rather than pushing, he pulled; and it surprised Corvo enough to send him sprawling when Daud used all of his weight and let himself fall backwards.

They hit the deck, Daud underneath Corvo, breathing quick and shallow.

“I think one of us cheated,” Daud rasped, his hands still fisted in Corvo’s undershirt. Corvo could tell his pupils were wider than normal. He looked… hungry. And he was tugging Corvo closer, his breath brushing Corvo’s chin as he tilted up his own. As clear an invitation as Corvo had ever had.

Daud was handsome. On occasion, he could be charming. He liked Corvo to join him on the roof.

Corvo did not mind the questions he liked to ask him, evade them though he had to.

His eyes flickered down to Daud’s lips, parted with excitement.

He moved forward —

and then he stopped. Got his knees under him to get up from where he was braced atop Daud on his arms, and sat back on his haunches, straddling Daud’s legs.

Thus he sat, and watched realisation set in. It did, and Daud’s mouth closed with a click.

“I see,” Daud said. “It’s your job.”

Corvo nodded. It wasn’t a lie, after all. No tells for Daud to read.

Daud nodded back, and disappointment seemed to linger in the corner of his lips.

Still, Corvo had to ask. “Another test?”

Daud, still trapped beneath him, seemed nevertheless not to have lost his humour, for he answered the question by looking down at his own groin. Corvo was only half surprised to find his shorts tented — more surprised that he had not noticed it while practically on top of him.

Daud raised his gaze back to him, one brow drawn up. “That answer your question?” he drawled.

“If you say so.” Corvo got up to stand, then offered Daud his hand to help. “Need a break?”

“Do you? I can go take care of it,” Daud offered easily for a man so reserved.

Corvo regard him a moment.

“Just don’t come in your pants,” he settled on teasing gruffly.

“What am I, a teenager?” Daud rumbled.

Corvo had half a mind to put him on his back again.

*

The rest of the day passed as normal, and when Corvo returned to his small apartment, he was one more glad that living in a townhouse full of Whalers meant Daud did not need Corvo as a permanent guard. Those assignments always made collecting evidence, absurdly, harder. Hiding space was scarce, and Corvo often could not get away to use the dead-drop he had arranged with Curnow.

He stepped inside, and together with his gun and knife holsters, released the burdens of the day.

Daud had been a perfect gentleman, so to speak, and in private, Corvo allowed himself a smile at the challenging glance Daud had thrown his way when Corvo had swept his feet out from underneath him. Daud had very nearly landed on his face, caught himself, only for Corvo to bear down on him — and Daud had growled in a manner decidedly not innocent, but certainly appreciative. Back at the gym, Corvo had merely raised a brow.

Here, Corvo rubbed his face and walked over to the hidden alcove, concealed with a shutter; purely decorative, often used to cover doorways that had been closed to make two one-bedroom apartments out of a bigger one. Housing was scarce in Dunwall, too.

This time, however, it afforded him an opportunity: this alcove was where he kept his other secrets.

The case files were in a locked steel cabinet in his bedroom. But this, even Curnow did not know about.

> _DUNWALL – SK_
> 
> _In yet another in a string of recent gang-related crime, yesterday saw a particularly grizzly scene. On Market Street, at the crossing to Finfick Lane, seven people died in a drive-by shooting._
> 
> _The target was Blake Pembroke, 39, known to the City Watch, according to Captain Geoffrey Curnow, as an enforcer working for the infamous gang whose leader calls herself Black Sally. Pembroke has been implicated, though never charged, in numerous incidents of smuggling, racketeering, grevious assault, and murder. Cpt. Curnow alleges further that Pembroke acted as one of Black Sally’s lieutenants._
> 
> _Described as “an industrious chap,” for fifteen years Blake plied his illegal trade along the Wrenhaven River at places such as Eel's Bend, the Flooded District, and the Whale's Tooth. During this time he smuggled whale oil with a group of associates._
> 
> _The City Watch have arrested several suspects in the killing, but sources have alleged that the most likely perpetrator is sought highwayman Teague Martin, 43. Martin has been a suspect in several robberies. The Watch speculate that his involvement in this hit is due to trying to buy his way out of debts accumulated with a rival gang._
> 
> _Martin's past is shrouded in mystery, with little information on the specifics of his early life. He was born in Morley, witnessing the Morley Insurrection at a young age and moving to Gristol at some later point._
> 
> _What weighs so heavily on the city today, however, is to count the cost. Six others died in the assault, innocent by-standers on their way to work and running errands._
> 
> _Most notably among the dead, is Jessamine Kaldwin, 32, daughter of the former city magistrate, Euhorn Kaldwin. Once in line to be mayor, Kaldwin fell from grace after it was revealed that he had several extra-marital affairs, and children with at least two of the women._
> 
> _Euhorn Kaldwin died several years ago of cancer, and his family have largely disappeared from the public eye. His daughter Jessamine has been working in a diner on Finfick Lane – a fair way from what could have been a seat on the City Council._
> 
> _The families of the remaining victims have requested that their relatives remain unnamed, however they have been identified by the coroner._
> 
> _The inquest into the victims’ deaths will presumably conclude before the City Barrister files charges of multiple counts of murder in the first and second degree._

Jessamine.

His fingertips traced over her name. She had been one of the last identified — by him. All her remaining family was gone, or did not care about her death. He should have been there. He should have driven her to work at the diner that day, only one of those damned live-in watchdog assignments had thrown a tantrum. Or, rather, his mistress had, and Corvo had picked glass out of his own shoulder for half an hour.

By then, it had already been too late.

It was his fault she was dead.

Now, he had to find out who’d ordered the hit.

And punish them.

*

A few days later, Corvo was required to stay as long as dinner, as Daud rented out _The Chamber_ for the night and as many Whalers as fit inside were helping themselves to food and drink. Corvo at least tried the chicken, at Escobar’s urging, and found it perfectly tender.

“So?” Escobar prompted, as giddy as though he’d prepared all this himself.

“Wasted on you crooks,” Corvo said, and meant it. Escobar laughed.

To his right, Daud was still all business, between courses, and was currently going over the Ledger with Lurk — the book that never left Daud’s person (except for when he trained) — and that held all the week’s accounts and debts.

“Send Rulfio to remind Timsh to arrange bail for Stride,” he overheard Daud instruct her. “By proxy, of course.”

Lurk nodded, then paused. “Don’t know why you still keep bailing out that madwoman,” she said.

“Stride’s not mad, she’s angry,” Daud told her. “And with good reason. Besides, she helped me with the witches. We’ll have need of her yet. And she’s certain to call in that favour.”

Corvo chanced another glance, keeping up the pretence of his conversation with Escobar.

Lurk shrugged and went on to other matter. “Del Amico is late with the rent, again.” She sent Daud a look. “Want us to turn her out?” Her expression plainly said she thought it was high time that someone should.

Daud waved a dismissive hand. “Give her another week.”

Lurk seemed skeptical, but accepted the order. “You’re getting soft, old man.”

Daud commanded her with one look to be quiet.

Corvo turned his attention back to Escobar before anyone was any the wiser.

Timsh.

The thought had Corvo go very still.

“Enjoying yourself, Corvo?” Daud asked, back in his ear, business concluded for now.

Corvo reminded himself to breathe.

*

That night, Corvo barely took off his jacket before he attacked both the filing cabinet and the alcove. Timsh. The barrister defending Teague Martin, the man charged with the Black Sally hit. Del Amico — now this one was harder. But her name had rung a bell. Corvo leaned back, his shoulders rolling back, when the files confirmed his hunch. She was Teague Martin’s sister, married to a man from Cullero.

Daud was paying her brother’s lawyer, and letting her get away with late payments.

As was customary when someone went away for a job you had paid them to do.

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

He’d found him.

And he’d nearly had him.

*

Corvo had two weeks left on his contract.

He thought about it for three days.

That morning, he deposited his latest report, including his material from the investigation into the Black Sally shooting, at the dead-drop. Curnow would be surprised, but by no means scandalised, that Corvo had run an unauthorised investigation; even if he did not know about Jessamine.

Later, he and Daud sparred again. When Daud held himself back, Corvo started pushing it. When he had Daud panting and wide-eyed, and by no means fighting it, he let go. They spent the rest of the day with stolen glances, even a few surreptitious touches. The Whalers were probably amused. Daud sent Corvo a probing look over the table at lunch. Was he mistaking Corvo’s own piercing stare for desire?

When the day was done, Daud invited him to join him on the terrace again.

“Changed your mind?” he asked, smoking.

Corvo swallowed. Then, he leaned in through the fog and smoke to kiss him — biting, hardly tender. Daud moaned against him. They made their way to bed eventually, and Corvo gave Daud what he wanted so badly. Literally.

He did not delude himself as to why he could even get it up.

It wasn’t a discussion whether he stayed the night. He had a duffel with clothes stashed here for emergencies, the same he always stashed with every client for the duration.

At least, Daud likely thought that was why Corvo didn’t work to extricate himself after midnight.

*

It was before dawn came when Corvo reached underneath the pillow and retrieved his gun. Daud had watched him slide it under, and had nodded approvingly. Corvo cocked it right as he set the barrel against Daud’s temple.

Daud’s eyes snapped open.

Outside the Whalers’ townhouse, the night was still dark and deep. A single gunshot tore through the silence. And the rest was Void.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was:
> 
> "Corvo just kinda joined up with some agency where hes given random people to guard for a certain amount of time and gets paid p well. corvo is dauds bodyguard for a hot minute, maybe starts feeling things, and then he finds out that daud killed his lover"


End file.
